


Second Fiddle

by Mierke



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Boyle tries to take care of Jake, Conductor Raymond Holt, Gen, Gina is there to drop some truth bombs, I guess you could read this as pre-Jake/Amy?, Jake has father issues, Violinist Amy Santiago, Violinist Jake Peralta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/pseuds/Mierke
Summary: When a new conductor leads their orchestra, he chooses Amy over Jake as the concertmaster and Jake has to face some uncomfortable truths.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Second Fiddle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt _Fiddle_ for the [100 Fandom challenge](https://100fandoms.dreamwidth.org/).

"... and Mr. Peralta. Ms. Santiago will be the principal violinist and concertmaster."

"What?!" Jake's voice rang loud and clear through the suddenly silent auditorium as he jumped to his feet.

"Did you have anything to add, Mr. Peralta?" The new conductor seemed eerily calm, as if he hadn't just turned Jake's entire world upside down.

"With all due respect, sir," Jake said through gritted teeth. "You can't just demote me. I've been playing first chair for years."

Mr. Holt's facial expression didn't change, but even so Jake could feel the disapproval radiating off his skin.

"Ms. Santiago is obviously the most skilled violinist, and thus deserves to be the principal."

"But it's about more than just musical skills," Jake argued, unable to counter the conductor's point about Amy's playing. She was a force of nature with her bow. "It's about establishing a rapport with the orchestra, it's about people skills."

"It is also about listening to the conductor. Ms. Santiago, do you think you're up for the task?"

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

"We will start with Puccini's Crisantemi."

It was obvious that as far as Holt was concerned, the case was closed. Jake sat back down, his eyes unfocused as he opened the pages of the sheet music they had all been given two weeks before. At least he wasn't pushed back to second violinist and had to start rehearsing all over again. Start on the solos usually came after the first weeks of rehearsal, so he hadn't looked at those yet.

He was trying to focus on the positives so hard he had almost no focus left for the music itself. He played worse than he ever had, and he could just feel Holt's eyes looking at him in dismay, as if to say, 'See, you're not good enough for principal, what was your previous conductor thinking?'.

He bit back the frustration rising in his throat, and bolted out of the building after rehearsal, wanting to escape both Amy's smug triumph and Boyle's cloying sympathy. It was Gina, their harpist, who caught up to him before he could get on the subway.

"That sucks, man," she said, and Jake forced a smile.

"Thanks."

"Amy totally deserves it, though."

Jake sighed. Leave it up to Gina to be sympathetic only to a point.

"Really?" he said, turning around to face his childhood friend. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"Do you know how many hours she's been practicing?" Gina chided him. "While I was dancing and you were... I don't know, doing something else, she was playing. While we were sleeping, she was playing. Do you know she's had the soloist part down for three years in a row now before the first rehearsal?"

"Well, yeah, but just because she's some kind of nerd, doesn't mean she deserves to take my place."

"Doesn't it, though?"

With those words, Gina left, leaving Jake alone with his thoughts as he waited on his train to arrive. A part of him didn't want to listen to what Gina had said. He deserved to pout at least a little after being pushed back like some kind of college kid overthrown by the next best thing. Another part of him went over Amy's reaction to the news, and filed away her excitement, her pride, the glint in her eyes as she took on this new responsibility.

He could only imagine what she would look like when she played her first solo.

* * *

You would think he'd gotten used to the new normal faster than this, Jake mused as they went through the dress rehearsal of their first concert. It was the first time Amy shook the conductor's hand, led the tuning, played the solo, and it hurt.

It had been bad during rehearsals; he had had to swallow so many suggestions and had sometimes slipped up which had led to angered looks from both Amy and Holt. He was supposed to be quiet, let Amy take the lead, follow her bowings and instructions. She did things differently than he would have, and while it didn't necessarily sound worse, he had lost a connection to the orchestra he hadn't even really known he had. More than once, he had looked at other orchestras, thinking that starting over somewhere else, even as second violin, might be less painful than staying here.

After a time, though, that hurt had lessened to a dull ache. He learned to breathe through the pain and focus on Amy not as concertmaster but as Amy: focus on the adorable crease between her brows as she focused, on the ridiculous colour coded notes she added to the sheet music, on how the responsibility fit her like a glove. He had never seen her look so beautiful, and that helped. It helped that she at least was thriving in first chair, was enjoying it and loving it every bit as much as he had always done (maybe even a little more, a voice whispered in the back of his head, but he wasn't ready to listen to that yet).

But now, as they were on stage, semi-performing, it all came raging back. It was like the whole concert was one giant _you're not good enough Jake_ , and all he could do was sit through it and let it wash over him. He didn't ruin Amy's solo, but he came close and it scared him a little (he was jealous, not cruel). He bolted to the bathroom as soon as it was over, trying to get his breathing under control.

"I haven't even told my parents yet," he groaned.

"Why does that even matter?"

He hadn't heard Gina arriving. He contemplated telling her to get lost, this was the men's room, but he didn't think she'd listen.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked instead. "The only reason my dad still talks to me is because I'm this huge success. He can boast about me to all his friends and send them free tickets and generally be sophisticated by association."

"Is that really someone you'd want in your life, though?"

"Yes. He's my dad!"

"Is he?"

Jake looked at Gina in exasperation, but she just shrugged.

"I'm just saying, what makes someone a dad? You grew from his sperm, sure, but is that really all it takes to be a father? Shouldn't there be some sort of rule that if your sperm donor doesn't love you unconditionally, he loses his title? Anyway, debriefing starts in two minutes, is what I came to say."

Jake followed her, but the things she'd said stayed in the back of his mind. He forced himself to focus during the violin section of the debrief, but as he'd lost any reason to listen to non-violin stuff, he let his mind wander during the rest of it.

Ever since his father had left their family, Jake had worked hard to make him proud, to be good enough and interesting enough for his father to want him in his life. His first violin had been a gift from his dad, just before he had left, and playing it had become a symbol of their family and his fatherly love. Jake had never had the patience for anything in his life, but with the violin something had clicked in his brain. It transported him to a different world, a happier world, and practising came almost easy.

The two had been intertwined in his head for so long he wondered how it would feel like to play for himself, instead of for his father. He wasn't sure if he even could.

* * *

Jake got up the next day - day of their first show - jittery and excited. The part of him that loved to play, that loved the violin, loved the music and the orchestra, didn't care that he wasn't going up there in the spotlights. For that part, nothing had changed between the previous performance and this one, and he didn't even feel all that different than he usually would.

He went through his pre-performance rituals as he always did; watch a movie with the sound on loud, dance around the room, get all the restless energy out of his body so he would be able to sit still and focus in the evening. Then he met with Boyle for a drink.

"How are you holding up, Jakey?"

Boyle sipped his grasshopper hot chocolate, as Jake stirred in his own salted caramel one.

"It's weird," Jake said. "All this time, even during yesterday's dress rehearsal, I've been dreading this first performance more than I even dreaded my audition. And then, Gina said something yesterday, and suddenly all of that fell away."

"Wow. What did she say?"

"She said I should just let go of my dad and play for myself." Jake drank a sip of his hot chocolate. "Well, she didn't say that exactly, but that's what I gathered from our conversation."

"But he's your dad!" Boyle looked at the father and son who were sitting together a few tables over and sighed, the longing in his voice loud and clear.

"No, that's a dad," Jake said, inclining his head towards the table. "My father is someone who wants to use me as a status symbol, and who never took me out to get hot chocolate or balloons or to Disneyland or to the local park. He only ever cared about what I could do for him."

The little boy giggled as his father stole one of his marshmallows, and Jake had to look away.

"I think that's why I wanted that position so bad. It was everything my dad ever wanted."

Boyle smiled at him.

"That's understandable, Jakey. We all just want to make our fathers proud. Research has shown that young boys will always look to a father figure to learn how to behave, even when their own parent is absent."

"Yeah, well, it sucks. Because now I have to figure out what I want. And I don't even know whether that means to keep playing."

* * *

"You can't quit!" Amy cornered him after the performance, violin still in hand. "As your concertmaster, I forbid it."

"Can I get changed before we have this conversation?"

He pushed past her without waiting for an answer, holding his breath until he arrived in the dressing room, leaving the crowded hallways behind.

"You okay?"

He forced a smile for Boyle as he put his violin away.

"Did you tell Amy I might stop playing?"

"Yes. Oh my God, was that supposed to be a secret? I am so sorry, you know me, I just wanted to help, I thought maybe she could talk some sense into you."

Jake sighed as he changed into his normal clothes, his shoulders relaxing a little as he put on his comfortable hoodie. The last thing he wanted right now was to talk about this; he just wanted to go home and crash, forget about everything else and focus on the next day's performance. But when he snuck out of the dressing room Amy was waiting for him, her post-concert clothes almost as stiff as her stage clothes and Jake grimaced.

"How do you relax in that?" he asked.

"I relax at home," she sniped. "I wanted to wear something professional in case people wanted to talk to me."

It struck Jake again, how different they looked at the position. He had enjoyed it, sure, but had he ever thought it that important? Even back when he had first gotten the job, had he gotten dressed up, had he looked forward to meeting the fans? He couldn't quite remember, could only think of the way his father had lit up when he heard the news. Yet even back then a part of him had been afraid it was all about status and not about him, and he had claimed some sort of important orchestra thing to get out of meeting his father backstage. He had gone home and drowned his mixed feelings in a tub of ice cream.

"Look, Ames," he said. "We don't need to talk about this. Not ever, but definitely not now."

"But-"

Her eyes kept glancing longingly at the door leading into the foyer, but she didn't move.

"Go. Mingle. Let your brothers proudly proclaim you're their sister. Glory in your new status as concertmaster. Dazzle all the young girls who want to be you one day."

"Did you know only 15% of the concertmasters are women?" Amy excitedly said, practically bouncing on her toes, and Jake smiled at her.

"See? Go. I'll still be here a week from now. We can talk when performances are over and you've emerged from this glow of pride and happiness."

He watched her leave and refused to acknowledge the thought that tried to form in his brain.

Maybe Holt had made the right decision.

* * *

"Mister Holt, Sir?"

The conductor waved him in, putting the sheets he was working on to the side.

"Mr. Peralta, what can I do for you?"

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? Jake fidgeted a little; if he were honest, he wasn't entirely sure what he did there. It had seemed like a good idea when he had gotten up that morning, the performances behind them, and a couple of days rest before the next rehearsals would start.

"I did not think you the type who often spends time here on his days off."

Was that a rebuke? A question? A simple statement? Why was this guy so hard to read?

"Why did you make Amy the concertmaster?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Mr. Peralta, if you are here to argue for your job back, I-"

"No! No, I get why you would think that. I just..." Jake took a deep breath. "I get it, I think. I've seen her play this weekend, and I've seen how she's taken to it, but I need to know from you. Why was I not good enough?"

He looked everywhere in the silent room but at Holt. His eyes roamed over the newspaper clipping on the wall, the little pride flag in Holt's pen holder, the immaculate briefcase next to the desk. He was almost about to make an inane comment, when Holt started speaking again.

"Mr. Peralta, you have many of the qualities needed in a concertmaster. You are a great violinist and you possess all the characteristics of a leader, not a follower." He paused for a breath. "I would never say your previous conductor made a mistake instating you in that position, because it does suit you."

"Then why? If I was good enough for that position, why take it away?"

Holt leaned back in his chair, his fingertips pressed together in thought.

"You got complacent. You could be the best, but that did not seem to be your goal. Ms. Santiago, on the other hand, embodies the orchestra in every fibre of her being. And in the end, that is the most important quality of a concertmaster. You need to know every aspect, every detail, every note and vibration, to be able to lift if all up. She was that person; you were not."

Jake was uncomfortably thrown back to his conversation with Gina after this had all happened. How had she figured it out so fast when he hadn't even fully understood what she had said and still needed to have it spelt out for him?

"There might come a time," Holt continued. "Where this orchestra will be in need of two concertmasters. I foresee a bright and promising future for Ms. Santiago as a solo violinist, in which case she will need someone to fill in for her. I have heard you might decide to stop playing music altogether, which is of course your prerogative. But you should know there is still a place for you here, and this orchestra will suffer from your absence."

It was the most words Jake had ever heard Holt say that weren't about the piece they were performing.

"Cool, cool, cool, I'll just-"

He gestured behind him and made to leave the room. Just before he closed the door, he turned around.

"How did you know, Sir? The previous conductors didn't even look at Amy."

The corners of Holt's mouth shifted oh so slightly in what could almost be called a smile.

"People are prejudiced and have ridiculous notions of who can and can not lead," he said. "I try not to be."

* * *

"And then he said you were going places and that I might have to fill in for you at one point."

Jake and Amy were sitting in a small café near the concert hall, each of them with a huge piece of cake to celebrate Amy's first successful run as concertmaster.

"He said that?!" Amy almost bounced out of her seat. "How did he look when he said that? I bet he had that tilt to his eyebrow, the one that says 'don't contradict me on this, I know what I'm saying'. He did, right? He didn't do that other thing, where he's just indulging you until you find out you were wrong and he was right all along?"

"He definitely meant it," Jake reassured her, as he tried to think back to that moment and how Holt had looked. "He had... I don't know Ames, I haven't catalogued his facial expressions, but he meant it."

She smiled dreamily.

"I can't believe he said that."

Jake smiled at her and ate some of his cake, patiently waiting for her to come down from the headrush.

"Sorry, we weren't talking about me," she said a little sheepishly. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to see how it feels to just play. How it feels when I'm not spending half my time being jealous and petty, or half my time thinking of how I might impress my dad. I don't even know if I can separate the violin from my father, but I'm going to try."

They were silent for a bit as they enjoyed their cake.

"I'm glad you're not leaving." Amy didn't look at him as he said it, and Jake smiled.

"So am I. I'll never be the better you. But maybe I can be a better me."

He held up a piece of cake to clink with it, and Amy rolled her eyes but indulged him.

"To Jake," she said.

"To Amy."


End file.
